


A Touching Gift

by vexbatch



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Fluffy, Longing, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:06:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25044352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vexbatch/pseuds/vexbatch
Summary: Massage therapist Bucky Barnes finds himself very distracted by a new client.Clint Barton Bingo, Square 1: Gift/Present
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 15
Kudos: 85





	A Touching Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyishBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyishBlue/gifts).



> This was written for @GreyishBlue who wanted more massage fics in the universe!  
> ...now that I think about it, they probably didn't mean actual masseuses...woops.
> 
> Thanks to @BloodMoonInSpace for the lovely beta work! Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> I wrote this as a gift, but since it also happens to fill a bingo square, I'm using it as a fill too!  
> 

Bucky leaned down harder with his right hand, finding a new knot in the meat of the shoulder under his hands. The mobile prosthetic could be too much for a lot of clients, and the over 6’ gorgeous blonde before him hadn’t called out a pain tolerance yet, despite some nasty muscle knots and severe stress on his tendons 

“You carry a lot of tension in your neck and shoulders...I can help with some of that now, but without regular sessions or lifestyle changes, it will come back.” Bucky stepped away, getting a little more oil on his hands now that he had identified enough of the knots to be getting on with. “Are you ready for the hot stones?”

The blonde on his table,  _ clipboard said Clint _ , shifted a little, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky had to actually drag his eyes away from what lay underneath that towel.  _ What kind of professional  _ are  _ you, _ he chastised himself, dragging his focus back to the stones he was preparing and away from the purple butterflies peeking out from under the towel. He knew some people thought all tailbone tats were trashy, but the asymmetric design on Clint’s skin was captivating, highlighting the upper curve of the man’s ass.  _ Stop thinking about his ass, Barnes. _

“Um,” finally came the response. “That sounds...fine I guess? I’ve never really had a massage before...What you were doing with your hands felt nice though. Is it….Would it be okay if you just continued with your hands?”

Bucky failed to repress a smile as he responded. “Yes, we can do that.” He knew it was wrong to be this excited about it, but he did very much enjoy putting his hands on the man before him.

Having re-oiled himself, Bucky refocused on working out the tension on one arm, all the way down to the hand, before swapping to the other side. He leaned down, pushing at the muscles beneath that beautiful, storied skin. There were little cuts and nicks, mostly healed, but a couple large enough that Bucky could feel it fighting him. “I’m sure this scar tissue isn’t helping with your pain issues. Usually deeper tissue massages work well on this type of damage.”

There was another small noise from the man beneath him, and Bucky could almost swear there was a blush creeping over the back of his neck.  _ No, that’s just wishful thinking. _

“Oh, um. I hadn’t thought about doing this more than once, but...You, uh, came pretty highly recommended from a friend of mine.” He shifted again, and Bucky couldn’t deny anymore that there definitely  _ was  _ a blush creeping towards Clint’s hairline.

Bucky couldn’t quite understand what was so embarrassing about a recommendation from a friend; it’s not like he was one of  _ those _ masseuses. Bucky bit his lip and concentrated instead on working up to the shoulders, moving to stand so that he was looking down at the beautiful tapestry of scars and ink before him. Just as he started working on the left shoulder, another mumble came up. 

“You can go harder if you want.”

Buck glanced down, blinking for a moment, before applying a little more pressure as he carefully maneuvered around the man’s spine. “This is  _ your _ massage; we go as hard as you want to.”

There was a strangled whimper from below him, and Bucky took a step back to give him a little space. "Is this too much? I can grab one of the other-"

"No," came the swift reply. “No, I like it, it feels  _ amazing _ ...Sorry, I’ll be quieter. Please don’t stop.”

Bucky looked down at the man before him, and hesitated. He had clients previously that had wanted more from him, that had moaned like what he was doing was orgasmic, but Clint seemed more startled than anything. And if Bucky was being honest with himself, he maybe wanted to do more with Clint…

But right now he was going to be a professional, so he put a little authority in his voice. “I need you to tell me if there is too much pressure, or if you are uncomfortable. The point of this is for your muscles to be able to relax, and if you are all tense, this isn’t going to work. Okay?”

Clint went very still on the table before him, and Bucky watched as he exhaled, melting onto the table. As each limb went limp, Bucky felt a surge of pride and protection, a feeling he quickly pushed away. He didn’t know this man; he shouldn’t be feeling so attached to a client.

“Okay,” Clint finally breathed, and a warm sensation swept over Bucky at the bonelessness reflected in the man’s voice.

Bucky stepped back up to the table, carefully placing his hands back on the rock-hard shoulders, and started slowly easing the tension from them. He took some pleasure in breaking apart the man before him, feeling the knots slowly ease to the tune of light sighs.

By the end of the allotted hour, Bucky was relatively satisfied with the looseness he had accomplished. Stepping away, he hummed a satisfied note before reaching a hand out to the room’s volume control panel and lowering the ambient music. 

“I’ll step out for a moment to process your paperwork, and let you get dressed.” Clint grumbled something unintelligible to prove he was awake, and Bucky left the room as quickly and quietly as possible, snagging the clipboard on his way out. Once the door closed behind him with a soft  _ click _ , he leaned up against it, taking comfort in the solid wood that muffled most sounds within or without. Bucky stared up at the ceiling, quietly imploring, “did he have to be so  _ hot?! _ ”

Taking a deep breath, he shook his head to dislodge the image of a long, tanned, scarred back that ended in a trail of purple butterflies…

Bucky pushed off against the door, striding down the hallway to the front desk. The exertion from his work and the slight breeze of the halls teased a lock of hair from Bucky's ponytail. He tucked it back behind his ear, turning the last corner to the reception area. Bucky was already halfway around the desk by the time Sharon Carter, their receptionist, looked up. He started logging into their secondary computer as she leaned back in her chair to appraise him

“Ooooh, does someone finally have you all riled, tall, dark, and grumpy?” He could feel her focused stare at hihm, which he resolutely ignored. “ooOOoo, they  _ do.  _ Is it your 2 o’clock? He seemed a little boring to me, but if that’s what gets you going, who am I to judge?”

Bucky let out a half-hearted chuckle at that, trying to distract himself from how easily he had been entranced by the man. “You’ll judge us no matter what, Sharon.”

She hummed as he hit the last few keys, detailing what had been adjusted, recommendations on where to focus in the future, and approximate pain tolerance. “I suppose you’re right. Well, try to get this one to come back at least; seeing you happy would be a nice change of pace.” He glowered down at her, but she just laughed. “His hour’s already been paid for, there’s no harm in flirting a little. Go get ‘em, tiger.”

He huffed out a breath, and stalked back away down the hallway. There was a squirming feeling in the pit of his stomach at being read so easily, but Bucky pushed it away to the same space that he had pushed the warm feeling Clint gave him. He would handle this as professionally as he could, and deal with the weird residual feelings later. Or never. Yeah, never sounded good.

Reaching his room again, Bucky gently rapped on the door. There was a faint “come in,” so he entered as quietly as possible, keeping his eyes trained on the floor until the door was closed and he was facing opposite the man that he had just taken apart. Bucky took a deep breath to steady himself, took a cursory glance at the clipboard he held, and turned around. 

What immediately struck him was the dazed look in Clint’s bright blue eyes, replacing the sharp gaze he had walked in with. It wasn’t wholly unusual, but it did send a thrum of pride through Bucky’s chest. He looked back down at the chart, confirming what he already knew was there so that his eyes would stop straying from the mussed blond hair, down the black and purple shirt, to the little arrow fletchings peeking out from Clint’s waistband.

“It seems as though the friend that recommended you also stopped by and paid for your massage today.”

“Dammit,” Clint groaned, slowly coming out of his reverie. “We...well, we’re having a bit of a gifting war, and now she’s gotten me  _ double _ .” He ran a hand through his already mussed hair, and Bucky found his gaze wandering down to where the slightly-too-small shirt revealed another arrow tracing down Clint’s hip and into his jeans. Clint’s voice became liquid honey as he said, “well hey there.” 

As Clint’s voice dropped into something more sultry, Bucky startled, blinking rapidly back at the piercing eyes, and then dropped back down to his clipboard, angling his body away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m usually more professional than this,” Bucky rambled before wrestling back control of his mouth and snapping his jaw shut.  _ Breathe. Calm down. Stop checking him out. _

There was a deep chuckle, and suddenly a heavily calloused hand was resting on his wrist. “Hey, I was looking too.” Clint said as he moved his hand up to place it on Bucky's bicep, squeezing briefly. “If you wanted to, we could make something of this. My place, tonight?”

A whine was trying to work it’s way out of Bucky’s throat at that, but he swallowed it back down. He hadn’t flirted in so long, it was overwhelming to have another man coming up to him like this, so quickly, but it also didn’t feel as bad as he thought it would. It didn’t actually feel bad at all... Bucky took a deep breath before looking up at Clint, now hovering perilously close to him. “How about coffee, tomorrow.”

Bucky felt his heart break a little as Clint flinched back, surprise written on his face and hand drawing back. “I don’t know if you want to get to know all of this mess,” Clint mumbled, gesturing at himself.

Shaking his head, Bucky reached his prosthetic tentatively out to Clint’s waist. “I want to. If you’re okay with that. You’ve got so many stories on your skin; maybe you could tell me a couple?”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat as Clint’s face suddenly went expressionless, animated smile falling off his lips, broken nose and sharp cheekbones now only terrifying angles where they had been inviting a moment before. Bucky didn’t realize how much he had wanted this connection, wanted to reach out to someone and have them reach back. To be interested, and maybe trust someone a little bit. 

There hadn’t been anyone since the accident; Bucky just couldn’t stand the way eyes slid off his face and focused, horrified, on where the high-tech prosthetic met flesh. People were fascinated or horrified or looking for answers, but he didn’t have any answers, just more pain. 

But if scars were anything to go by, Clint had seen enough fights that maybe,  _ maybe _ , he wouldn’t run from Bucky’s demons. And fuck if it wouldn’t be nice to go to bed with someone who would still be there in the morning. 

Dammit, maybe Sharon had a point.

The silence stretched, and hung over them. After agonizing minutes, Clint nodded. Bucky stared into his beautiful blue eyes that he was already half in love with, and laughter suddenly bubbled up in Clint. “How can I say no to an offer like that?!”

Abashed, Bucky ducked his head, mumbling some kind of apology until he felt a hand on his jaw. Slowly, he allowed the hand to tip his head back up so that he was looking up at Clint once more. 

“You know you’re very cute,” Clint quipped, laughter dancing in his eyes.

Words weren’t coming, seemingly stuck in his throat. Bucky hadn’t felt this flustered in years, and he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do or how to make his throat listen to his brain that was screaming  _ yes, go on every date with this man! _

Clint took a tentative step back, concern replacing the laughter on his face, and Bucky took a shaky breath. It felt overly loud and obnoxious, but it helped his brain to start moving again. Another deep breath, and he realized that he should probably explain something, or make solid plans, or  _ something _ .

A third breath, and he found words again. “It’s been a long time but I would love to go on a date with you maybe tomorrow at 11 at Coffeehouse Five it’s on 45th street?” Panic held Bucky frozen for another moment before he took a deep shaking breath. “Tomorrow at 11 okay?”

Clint slowly nodded, and dread dropped right back into Bucky’s gut. He hoped he hadn’t just ruined-

“Is it okay if I touch you again?”

Bucky blinked. Clint wasn’t shutting down, and there was concern on his face. Concern for  _ him.  _ Bucky nodded slowly, and Clint took a step forward before enveloping him in a gentle hug. It was nice, and soft, and it felt a little like he never wanted to leave the embrace of Clint’s arms.

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbled into a gloriously defined pectoral. 

Clint leaned back enough that they could catch each other’s gaze again, and smiled. “Tomorrow at 11. It’s a date.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

\---

Objectively, Coffeehouse Five served a better, richer brew than the drip machine that adorned Bucky’s counter, but sharing coffee in bed with Clint was better than the perfect latte.


End file.
